


The Shadow Between Us

by Kylenne



Series: This Warden's Work [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Arguing, Background Poly, Bisexual Female Character of Color, Elf/Human Relationship(s), F/M, Fantastic Racism, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 04:40:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13967523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kylenne/pseuds/Kylenne
Summary: Following her defeat of the Archdemon Urthemiel to end the Fifth Blight, Gisele Surana--now Warden-Commander Surana, Arlessa of Amaranthine--became the first elf to hold a noble title since the time of the Dales. And while she came to grips with her new role, her most unlikeliest of lovers, Loghain Mac Tir, bore the burden of his sins to the far northern reaches of Thedas, in search of atonement. What awaited them both upon his return to Vigil's Keep was a reckoning long coming.





	The Shadow Between Us

Night settled in peacefully over the Vigil, but not over its lady. While her weary soldiers took to their beds after another long day of cleaning and repairs, Gisele sat at the desk in her study seeing once more to the arduous task of rule. With the defeat of the Mother’s army, and a fragile peace reached with the Architect, it was its Arlessa that Amaranthine needed, and not its Warden-Commander, with her chosen weapon a pen and heavy seal rather than blade and spell. 

The Wardens defended this arling, saved it once more from the unholy host, but now was the time for rebuilding–and more than a single fortress damaged, yet standing. Truth be told, the bodies had not yet been cleared from the Vigil’s formerly besieged walls before the petitions started pouring in. Dozens of them, from across the vast arling, were sent by banns and freeholders, farmers and merchants, each seeking some manner of aid or respite or justice.   

It was enough to overwhelm anyone, much less a novice to the peerage learning as she went along, but Gisele shrewdly approached it in much the same way she’d always treated her studies in the Circle, and the way she approached healing on the battlefield: by creating a system of triage. She began by organizing requests according to greatest need, and marking out which ones could safely be delegated to subordinates. It was tiring work, and yet not even a fraction complete; considering the petitions was another matter entirely, balancing the ofttimes competing interests, needs–and ambitions–of her vassals against the weight of political necessity, in the viper’s nest of deceit and greed her notorious predecessor created during his time of sovereignty.   

Gisele could not help but cringe, her upper lip curling in disgust at the thought of the late Arl Howe. That cretinous shem’s antics were like to haunt her for years to come, his filthy hands seeming to reach out to strangle her even from beyond the pyre to which she sent him nearly half a year prior. She’d already uncovered one conspiracy which outlived the traitorous Arl himself, and Creators only knew how many yet remained, even after the goodwill she’d incurred by the saving of the City of Amaranthine. She knew all too well that being the Heroine of Ferelden only went so far in the minds of some–and far less to others, in point of fact. She simply had to make certain there was more profit in supporting the Arlessa than in plotting against her. Gisele believed the Lucrosians got at least one thing right, where human nature was concerned. 

Thus, the care with which she sorted through the petitions. Gisele placed another sheet upon the stack she’d declared “urgent”, and sighed, absently rubbing her sleepy eyes in exhaustion, smearing faint remnants of kohl and crushed violet powder onto her fingers by accident; that evoked another sigh from her, over her carelessness in removing her cosmetics. And yet she found sleep was hard won, those days, as between the petitions there were endless reports to be written and filed, to Weisshaupt and Denerim alike, detailing what precisely had occurred with the darkspawn there. She picked up the seal of Amaranthine, solid brass and heavy, and stared at it, a leaden weight between her slender fingers. She sighed, and once more she wondered what in the world Alistair was thinking when he granted her this territory for the Wardens. 

It was as she was staring at it that she heard a mild commotion outside, in the corridor.   

_“Where is she?“_

Muffled though it was, exhausted though she was, Gisele would have recognized that distinctive voice anywhere, a gravelly tenor that set her heart to fluttering. She forgot all about her weariness then, and practically leapt from her chair, gathering her robe of damask rose silk by the skirts, and raced out of her study to greet the source of that sorely missed voice. 

Loghain Mac Tir stood in the foyer, travel worn from the road, but no less handsome than she remembered–more so, even, as his weathered complexion held some color, lightly kissed by the northern sun. It suited him, she thought.

Gisele’s heart swelled, and the grin he made her was like the sun rising at midnight; she ran straight into his arms and he hoisted her effortlessly up into them, spinning her around with the enthusiasm of a giddy youth half his age. Then, he simply held her aloft in his arms, gazing up at her with those exquisite, steel-blue eyes in unabashed adoration and the smallest bit of awe, still, that it should be so returned.   

Gisele would never tire of him looking at her that way. 

"I missed you,” she said, a lump forming in her throat.   

“And I you, my lady. I’ve tomes for your library, among my packs,” Loghain said. “Leliana found aid in a most unlikely place, and the young man offered them as gifts.” 

Gisele beamed. “Fetch them for me later? Please, come, and let’s talk. It’s been so long, and a great deal has happened while you’ve been away.” 

He followed her back to her quarters—carrying her all the way, mind, and without a care for the bemused eyes upon them, here and there. When they shut the door behind them, Loghain only set her down gently to remove his traveler’s cloak; he sank upon the sofa by the fire, warming his hands. As he did, Gisele poured him a glass of cordial, and began to tell him all about what transpired in Amaranthine during his travels: that first attack upon the Vigil, establishing and rebuilding the order, the conspiracy to assassinate her, the uprising, the civil war that erupted among the darkspawn and how it was stopped. She spoke at length, and Loghain heard her in rapt, attentive silence. But when she spoke of her recruits, she lingered on Nathaniel; and with reason, for what he meant to her. The cornerstone of all Gisele’s relationships was honesty, and Loghain needed to know about him. 

For his part, Loghain’s steel-blue eyes grew a bit wider in surprise at that name. “Nathaniel Howe? Surely you don’t mean Rendon’s lad?" 

"Oh, yes. He was caught sneaking into the keep not long after I first arrived. He’d intended to recover a number of family keepsakes…and to kill me, the woman squatting in his family’s ancestral demesne. He was furious, when I met him in confinement, and Varel recommended he be executed,” Gisele explained. She pursed her lips a moment, in self-deprecation. “Naturally, I recruited him for the order instead, and I’ve since taken him as a lover."  

"You’re making a habit of that, my lady,” Loghain said with a wry grin. “It would appear that the way to your heart seems to be to go for it with a sharp blade.”

Gisele scrunched her nose, and playfully tossed a decorative pillow at him. “I suppose I’ve a weakness for tall and brooding men with distinguished Fereldan noses. Are you jealous?” she asked teasingly. 

Loghain caught the pillow with a soft chuckle, then shook his head. “Should I be? Your life is your own, Gisele. I make no claim upon it and never have. After all, I wasn’t the sole object of your affections when first we became more than reluctant allies. My only wish as always is to see you content and well cared for. How fares our king, for that matter?” 

Gisele turned her back to him, fidgeting with her pendant. “The kingdom is at peace, and he’s been an exceptionally good ruler. He enjoys as much support at the Landsmeet as he did the day of his coronation, and the people adore him,“ she answered. “Eamon’s rather vexed, I should think, that the young pup he thought to control is actually a mabari with teeth.” 

“That’s not what I asked, Gisele.” 

When she glanced back at Loghain, his dark, thick eyebrows were raised high. 

"Alistair is Maric’s son, with the blood of Calenhad in his veins. I am a painted, knife-eared harlot with the stain of magic in mine, which is by turns Orlesian and Dalish. His mother was a maid, of a surety, but she was human. Mine is the Denerim alienage’s local eccentric,” Gisele replied, swallowing down the familiar bitterness that rose up unbidden within her, tasting of bile and the sorrow that had settled upon her like a funerary shroud. She carried it with dignity, but it was heavy, and it was times like this that reminded her how heavy it truly was. “To your question, messere, the answer is what it has always been. Nothing has changed,” she said, with her eyes shut in weariness. 

“Your status certainly has, my storied Sorceress of the Grey. You’re Warden-Commander of Ferelden,” Loghain countered. “And an Arlessa, besides. You rule here, don’t you?" 

Gisele sighed. "What does it matter? I’m an Arlessa only on the cheapest of legal technicalities, and because the Chantry dares not gainsay Warden sovereignty so soon after a Blight. And my title avails me nothing, as Alistair is concerned. At court, I’d be naught but the king’s scandalous, exotic delight. I was before I came here. And I won’t be his mistress, Loghain. Arlessa or no, Eamon made it quite clear that is all I could ever aspire to be. He won’t suffer that hallowed Theirin blood to be spoiled by an elven mage. The Landsmeet would never permit it anyway, nor would the Chantry."  

"Eamon is a serpent!” Loghain cried, pounding his fist into the arm of the chair. He uncurled the fist and gripped it with a trembling, white-knuckled fury, nostrils flared and eyes hard as agates. “He only keeps you from the lad because he seeks to be the lone voice in his ear. Surely you must realize that." 

"Of course I do. I’m not stupid,” Gisele said, disregarding his sudden pique. She'd never trusted the old arl, herself; if Alistair's tales of his neglect and abuse weren't enough, the nigh-treasonous letters found upon the field of Ostagar certainly cemented it. He was no ally, truly, though he played at it. For all her flights of girlish fancy, Gisele was ruthlessly pragmatic in the art of political intrigue, and she used Eamon for her own ends--for the Wardens--even as he sought to use her, for his. The blood of Orlais ran true even in Ferelden.

"Then why do you heed his poisonous word?"

“Because there’s nothing for it, Loghain. Because my gran-mere was humiliated in that palace by her beloved Orlesian Comte, did you know? I don’t intend on carrying on that particular family tradition.” Bitter, angry tears came unbidden to her eyes. “Alistair must have a human wife–and one of suitable station. It’s best, you see, for the kingdom. Not even Leliana is worthy in their eyes. Do you know there’s been whispers he should marry Anora? That it would quell her supporters in the Landsmeet, who still seethe over the so-called Wardens’ Coup, even if they saw which way the wind was blowing and abided it. It would bring a measure of unity, you see: Maric’s son, and your daughter. What a fine thing that would be, for Ferelden!”

Gisele clamped her eyes shut, shaking with suppressed rage and hurt. She still remembered the worn diary, locked in the drawer of her writing desk: it belonged to her grandmother Thèresé, the beautiful daughter of Val Royeaux's cruel alienage who rose above her mean station to become a storied courtesan without peer, and won the heart of a Comte. It was a charmed life she led for an elf, and she gave it all up with stars in her eyes to follow her Comte to Ferelden. Ferelden, where his wife learned of her, and would not be shamed by a mere  _elf_. Then the jewel of Val Royeaux scrubbed her beloved's floor and emptied his chamberpots. The Comtesse even took her gowns, and had them altered to fit her homely frame.

Well, at the very least, Gisele did not believe Anora to be quite so petty as that, though the thought crossed her mind in a sudden pique of bitter, ugly sarcasm.

“You and I both know that would never happen. You know my daughter. Could you even imagine?” There was no small amount of mirth in Loghain’s voice. “It’s a shame, though, this enmity between you. You’re so much alike, you and Anora. Iron willed, full of pride–and stubborn as mules. It’s why you get on like oil and water, I suppose." 

"I’m sorry,” Gisele mumbled, rubbing her eyes with a sigh, and feeling rather ashamed at her own fit of silent pettiness. “I know it shouldn’t be this way, and I wish it were otherwise, for your sake. She’s your daughter, and I’m your lover. But I suppose if my father took up with a woman younger than me, and one who’d humiliated me before the Landsmeet and gave my crown to some upstart, I’d hate her too. I can’t say that I blame her." 

"She’ll come around, eventually,” Loghain said. “Even Anora’s not that stubborn." 

Gisele was dubious about that, but said nothing more on it. The subject was not one of her favorites, truth be told. She opened bleary eyes to him, turning her thoughts to his expedition. It was an even grimmer subject, but one in which she held a pointed and vested interest. 

“What of Tevinter?” Gisele asked. “How fared your quest?” 

Loghain shut his own eyes, blinking hard, and running a hand through his thick, shaggy hair. Gisele thought said hand was trembling a bit, as she watched him rise to pour himself a glass of cordial from the cabinet. He took a long drink, downing the contents in their entirety, before answering her. “It was fortunate Leliana came with me. She was right, you know. I was out of my depth there and would have been lost without her aid. Her bard’s cunning made all the difference; she sought and obtained information in places I never would have thought to look. And though it took a great deal of work, in the end, we were able to locate all who had been sold.” He paused then, and poured himself another glass. 

“And?” 

“We purchased the freedom of those we could. Others, we managed to free and bring to safety. It would seem there’s a well-organized, underground faction dedicated to such efforts,” Loghain replied. 

Gisele blinked. “You mean to say that every elf stolen from Denerim has been freed?” she balked. 

She watched the glass raise high, its contents trickling down his throat a second time. He sighed, his eyes shut. “It seemed not all survived the journey from Denerim. It is long, and arduous. But we learned their names. Those with surviving kin…Howe embezzled a great deal of money from the royal treasury, as I’m sure you well know. They’ll receive due recompense, as if anything could be named such. But reparations shall be theirs–all of them, the living and the dead. From Gwaren’s own coffers, if need be. Anora will see to it.” 

Indeed she will, Gisele thought, for it was the price of her Teyrnir: that Gwaren and Amaranthine should bear the greatest portion of the cost of compensating Denerim’s elves for the atrocities they suffered, including rebuilding the alienage. Bann Siobhan, Alistair’s newly appointed Chancellor of the Exchequer, drew up Gwaren’s bill nearly as soon as she was granted the chain of her office. And Loghain’s personal funds had been seized upon the forfeiture of his title and lands; those funds he was granted in pursuit of this Tevinter venture were given to Leliana, in trust of the crown. Gwaren would damn sure open its coffers, Gisele thought bitterly, if Anora wished any part of the compromise which afforded her the dignity of a title besides Queen Dowager. Gisele hadn’t forgotten the brutal purge which allowed the Tevinter slavers the opening they needed to conduct their ill deeds in the first place happened on Anora’s watch.

Of a surety, every shem with a measure of power in Denerim was complicit in that atrocity, not merely Rendon Howe and Loghain. Even Alistair’s late brother, whose fine Theirin features were stamped upon the coin by which Gisele’s people were sold like sheep at market, was complicit. The cruel yoke of oppression under which her people had suffered for so long was like the multi-headed hydra of legend, and that monster was not hatched by one degenerate Arl by his lonesome, nor abetted by a single regent lord’s callous indifference. 

Still, she had not forgotten who wore Gwaren’s seal, when it was used for such ill, to decide the fate of her birthplace and her people. Not even after she inexplicably stopped hating him. Locked deep inside her, the memory of it festered still, like a canker on her soul, and perhaps always would.

How could it be any other way, when Gisele also could not forget the disheveled woman in chains, lines of faded vallaslin upon her bronze face obscured by sweat and dirt, who was but a name scrawled upon a ledger in the manner of livestock: _Liliane Chastaine, female, aged thirty-nine, health satisfactory._

Mother. 

A powerful anger overcame Gisele again, over what was wrought. Over why this venture to Tevinter was necessary at all. She glared at Loghain, thinking of these things: of the stench of her mother’s soiled rags when they clung to one another weeping during a reunion far grimmer than the one Gisele dreamed of in the walls of the Circle Tower. Her blood was set to boiling all anew, that Loghain spoke of elven lives so casually. As though the worth of an elven life could be measured in base coin. Gwaren would never have enough; the very world would never have enough. Not for her mother, and those who sought to rebuild their broken lives in the new homeland. Not for those lost souls who perished in neglect, for naked greed, without even the dignity of a funeral pyre. 

“Do you remember that night, at Castle Redcliffe?” Gisele asked. “After Riordan called us into that room, and told you and I and Alistair how precisely the Archdemon must be destroyed?" 

“I could scarce forget it even if I wanted to,” Loghain replied.  

“You told me then that life is the currency of war. That we pay it, and pray that the cost is worth it in the end,” Gisele said. She closed her eyes against the trembling of her body, inhaling deeply before speaking again, before staring up at him in sorrow and anger. “Do you still believe that it was, Loghain? That the lives of my people were worth it?" 

Loghain sighed deeply and turned his piercing blue gaze from her, staring out the rain-battered window instead, to watch the storm unfold in the night sky. He was silent a long while before answering. “No, I do not. Some costs are too high to bear, particularly for those who have been burdened by these debts for generations. Such things cannot be measured. I know that now, without a shadow of a doubt. I was wrong." 

“Don’t you turn your back on, me, Loghain Mac Tir!” Gisele cried, tugging at his arm, forcing him to look her in the eye. “What changed for you, that you should suddenly face the truth of the horror you unleashed, and know it in your old bones? What at last taught you the worth of an elven life, monsieur, that you should relent? Was it the soft touch of my elven skin in the dark of night? Pray tell, my lord, was it my lovely elven mouth on your shem cock-–" 

“Enough, Gisele!” Loghain barked. 

“Not nearly, I daresay,” Gisele said coldly. She was goading him, she knew it, but her fury demanded it. “Answer me, Loghain. Did you do this because you could not bear the thought of loving me, of fucking me, all the while knowing it was your signet ring, bearing the seal of Gwaren, which condemned my mother to Tevinter chains? Am I your conscience, monsieur?" 

“What do you want me to say, Gisele?” Loghain demanded. “Do you want me to tell you that what befell Madame Chastaine had no bearing on my decision? Do you want me to lie, my young mistress? We both know the truth, and it matters not in the end. My sins are my own, as are my regrets. There’s no changing what happened, what I allowed to happen. But I went to the Imperium because I had to. Whether or not you believe in the sincerity of my motivations is quite irrelevant.” 

“I forgave you, Loghain,” Gisele said, trembling. “Because of who I am, and what has always guided me. I could do no less, as a vessel for Love. However, that did not mean I forgot. This shadow between us…nothing can erase it. Not your love, and not your coin. Not even your contrition, sincere though it be–and I do believe it is. Even one such as I could not love you, if I believed otherwise. Contrition may ease the pain, of a surety, but it shall endure." 

“I know. Gods help me, but I know, after what I’ve seen in the Imperium. I’ve seen what passes for the measure of an elven life in that place. I shall have to bear the knowledge of what I abetted for the rest of mine. With, or without you,” Loghain said, with a deeply furrowed brow. “Never again shall I be so naive as to believe such a life preferable to death even by darkspawn. I was an ignorant fool, blinded by arrogance. And too many paid the price for both. I went to Tevinter only to settle the balance of that ledger writ in blood and suffering. Whether or not I succeeded…I had to try. For their sakes–and, yes, for yours. Nothing more need be said.” 

“Loghain,” Gisele sighed. She buried her face in her hands a moment, feeling the weight of her exhaustion tenfold in that moment, threatening to crush her. “I cannot truthfully say that things are alright, or that I’m well pleased. And I cannot find it in my heart to thank you for it, when it should not have been necessary at all. But I appreciate that you tried. Shemlen rarely do, when it is elves they wrong. That you face those you did, and set things right even in some small measure…this is all I have ever asked of you,” she said. 

He peeled his eyes from her. “You denied me the only true justice that possibly could have been done for your kin, when you worked your arts with Morrigan. For reasons that still escape me, might I add. I do not know why you deemed me worthy in the end, or why you came to love me despite all that I wrought, and the pain I caused you. I repent it bitterly, Gisele, by the gods. And I can only strive to make the most of what I was given, this kindness I did not deserve. No more, but no less.“ 

She reached out to him, cupping his cheek with her palm, stroking the rough stubble. “You wonder why I began to see a man where once I saw a monster? Why my heart bled from stone for you, despite all my shame and protestations? This is why,” she said. Gisele leaned in close to him. “I no longer wish that it didn’t. I know there is good in you, despite everything, and falling so low. You’ve shown it a myriad of ways, since I spared your life. It’s why I forgave you, in the end, though I cannot grant you the atonement you seek, my love. No one can. But you seek it all the same, knowing it may elude you the rest of your days. You seek to do good, and be a better man than once you were. That is enough for me."   

Loghain pulled her into a tight embrace, his arms strong and warm, and Gisele clung to him. "You’ve made me a better man, Gisele Surana. Though your compassion might well be the death of me,” he said, and gently kissed the top of her head. 

“It was nearly the death of me,” Gisele said a bit wryly. “It may well be, as yet. But I am who I am, Loghain Mac Tir. I knew a Spirit of Love before I knew my own name. I am cursed, it would seem, to find it in the most unlikely of places, and for the most unlikely of people." 

"It made you the woman who stopped a Blight,” Loghain pointed out. “I’d call that a blessing by any measure." 

"You would,” Gisele chuckled, with a rueful snort. 

“I can’t say that I’m not biased,” Loghain admitted, with a light chuckle of his own, and squeezed her affectionately. 

She smiled into the soft leather of his old, worn tunic, nuzzling the fur trim. “Didn’t you say you had books for me?” she asked suddenly, remembering his words from the foyer. 

At that, he laughed soft and low, a rumbling sort of sound the set her cheek to vibrating against his chest, and he squeezed her again. “Ah, I missed you, Gisele. And I do. You’ve Messire Dorian Pavus to thank for that. He’s the lad I mentioned who aided us, though I suspect he did it simply to vex his father.” Loghain snickered softly, adding in a dry tone, “such is the province of youth, I suppose."  

"We’ve the energy for it, you old hound!” Gisele said, and swatted him playfully.

“I don’t recall you having many complaints about mine, young miss. At any rate, Pavus sent several tomes of esoteric Tevinter lore for you, along with his regards. Leliana couldn’t stop going on about you, and he wished to make you a gift,” Loghain said. 

A sudden pang gripped Gisele’s heart at the mention of Leliana, and with it guilt; she’d been so caught up in Loghain that it hadn’t occurred to her to ask after her other love, or why Loghain came to the Vigil by his lonesome. Guilt turned to mild panic then, and she tensed up in his arms. “How is Leliana? Is she well? Why is she not with you?” Gisele asked. 

“She’s fine,” Loghain said, stroking Gisele’s wealth of white curls in reassurance. “She’s in Denerim seeing the last of our charges home, and sent me ahead with the news of our mission. Like as not, she’ll be on her way here in the morning. She was anxious to see you."   

Gisele exhaled in relief, and felt the tension leave her. Still, she pulled away from him all the same. All she wanted was sleep. "Good. Love, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some rest. I’ve had a very long day." 

"Of course.” Loghain nodded, and bent down to kiss the top of her hair. “What do you wish of me?" 

She pondered it a moment. But she felt the shadow casting too much of a pall. The pain was too raw, exposed as it was by their argument, and it too close to the surface. Gisele did not know if she could bear the thought of being held by him, as though everything were normal. "I’m sorry. Perhaps tomorrow will be different. But I should like to pass this night alone." 

To his credit, Loghain’s face remained neutral and expressionless–if he was disappointed, he did not let it show. That, too, was a reason Gisele came to love him despite everything that had passed between them, after everything he’d done. Loghain’s first thoughts always seemed to be for her and what she needed, before himself. In the darkest depths of her hatred for him, she could never have imagined he could be so selfless. 

"I’ve had quarters prepared for you ever since I told Weisshaupt to get bent about sending you to Orlais. They’re down the corridor, fourth door on the right.” 

Loghain nodded, and hesitated a moment, before bending down again, this time to press his lips against her cheek. Warmth blossomed in it, from that, and Gisele grew flushed. “Thank you, my lady. For everything,” he said softly. 

He bowed deeply to her, and exited her chambers, leaving Gisele with her thoughts, and the lingering, familiar scent of clove and leather. She shut her eyes and inhaled it slowly, his scent, and as it settled deep in her lungs, she let it go. Would that the shadow between them was so easily expelled. But this helped. 

Gisele collapsed onto her bed, curling up against a pillow of soft down with her arms wrapped about her knees, and drifted to sleep.


End file.
